


Shear Bliss

by wyntera



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-03-13 04:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18933571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntera/pseuds/wyntera
Summary: Sometimes you can't help falling for a handsome face...even if they are holding very sharp objects near your head.





	1. Chapter 1

_ Shear Bliss. _

Hanzo stares at the quaint brick building and the large sign over the main window, black with white letters in a curling, cutesy,  _ feminine  _ font, and again questions Genji’s life choices. The little hair salon is nothing like their usual haunts. Hanzo knows for a fact that Genji prefers Designer’s Edge, the upscale salon near his apartment that Hanzo frequents for his own needs. Designer’s Edge is all sleek lines and stainless steel, quiet and sophisticated and serious, where businessmen and women go to be groomed to perfection. The best and nothing less.

Shear Bliss has begonias and a beauty parlor birdhouse by the front door.

How Genji managed to stumble upon this place, Hanzo still does not know. Something about his normal stylist canceling his appointment at the last minute, and Genji in desperate need for a touch-up for his dye. He wishes his brother would grow out of this hideous lime green phase he is stuck in. This place came with high reviews despite the unassuming outer appearance, and proclaimed that walk-ins were welcome. Next thing Hanzo knew, Genji was raving about how he would never have his hair done anywhere else and that Hanzo simply must give it a try. There is also the matter of the attractive blonde Genji had as a stylist, the angel that stole his heart.

Hanzo does not even  _ need  _ a haircut, not really. But finding out more about this girl that so captured his brother’s attention is worth paying for a trim.

A clunky metal bell clangs when he pushes through the glass front door and steps into the waiting area. The first thing that hits him is the strong scent of chemicals, that odor of ammonia, synthetic florals, and heated metal that marks any and all hair salons he has experienced. A few customers glance up at him from their seats before returning to their outdated magazines. Beyond a short retaining wall are the stylists’ stations, where several women are working away at their clients’ hair.

An older woman with white braided hair tied up with a scarf steps over and offers a pleasant smile. “Welcome to Shear Bliss, I’m Ana. Can I help you?”

“Hello. Ah, I was hoping for just a trim?”

“No appointment? That’s alright, let me see what we’ve got available.” Ana flips open a ledger behind the miniscule desk—an actual paper ledger, no computer in sight—and hums, pressing a pen against her lower lip. “Not Satya, not Angela…” Then, over her shoulder she yells out, “Olivia?! Is your two-thirty still coming?”

_ “Si! _ A full package, too!” calls a heavily accented latina voice from beyond the first wall of stations.  _ “Lo siento!” _

Ana just hums and starts writing in the book. “I’ll have Jesse take care of you. Can you wait around ten minutes?”

“That will be fine.”

Hanzo gives his name and takes a seat to wait, mildly annoyed that Angela is busy. At least, he is pretty certain Angela was the name of Genji’s crush. He watches the stylists that he can see from this side of the salon and tries to figure out if she may be any of them. Certainly not Ana, and he assumes that the young man with dreadlocks she is instructing is not an Angela either. The woman working the station to the left of Ana’s is tall and thin with a stoic demeanor, her long dark hair tied in a severe ponytail. She doesn’t seem like Genji’s type.

Now, the one to the right, he would have to guess is Angela. She certainly looks traditionally angelic, with her gold hair and bright blue eyes, perpetually smiling at her client in the mirror while she piles the customer’s hair into an elaborate style atop her head. Watching the hair get higher and higher, his annoyance switches to relief; maybe he doesn’t want this Angela working with his hair if he ends up looking like some sort of beehive. 

A shudder runs through him as he watches supposed-Angela apply a veritable cloud of hairspray to her client, the mist hanging visible in the air. Which leads him to wondering how good this Jessie is at styling. Hanzo is glad he asked for just a trim and nothing more complicated. He has no intention of letting her feather or fluff his hair into anything other than his normal style. Maybe he can change his mind and just ask her to cut off the split ends. She can take as little as possible and he can leave. Or maybe just a wash and dry? Why did he think this was a good idea? This was obviously a mistake.

He is convincing himself to get up and leave when one of the customers from the back row of stations comes striding out, her dark brown swooping up in an asymmetrical chopped cut that makes her look constantly in motion. “Thanks again, Jesse!”

“No problem. Just give me a call next time you’re in town. Have a good one!”

The deep baritone takes Hanzo by surprise. That surprise escalates to outright shock when a tall, handsome man strolls out from behind the wall. He’s untying an apron from around his thick waist, revealing a broad chest under his dark button down shirt and sinfully tight denim jeans. Those jeans are the reason it takes Hanzo a few seconds to register the rugged face, artfully tousled hair, and the wide smile he sends Hanzo’s way after checking the ledger. “You must be Hanzo. Hi, I’m Jesse.”

It takes Hanzo a second or two too long to respond, so caught up in the brown eyes and easy smile. “Yes, sorry,” he replies, shaking Jesse’s hand. Strong hands. Warm and calloused but still somehow soft in his. “Hanzo.”

“Nice to meet you, sugar. Come on back and we’ll get you all sorted out. This your first time here?” Jesse asks, waving for Hanzo to follow.

_ Sugar?  _ Hanzo blinks at Jesse’s back as he follows him around the retaining wall. “Yes. My brother recommended it.”

Jesse laughs. “Good to see our reputation ain’t sufferin’ lately.”

They walk past Ana’s and Angela’s stations to the second row where three more styling stations are set up, each decorated to reflect their stylists’ tastes. The middle one must be Olivia, as the she greets him with a friendly,  _ “Hola.” _ She is working hot pink color and foil into her client’s hair, the two speaking rapid-fire about video games. Down the row from her is another woman carefully measuring and trimming her client’s hair into a sharp, symmetrical bob. 

The station in the corner by the windows is where Jesse leads him. It’s sunny and warm and friendly, a few pictures pinned up along the side of the mirror and five different cactus plants lined up on the shelf below it. One of them is in a pot shaped like a cowboy boot.

Jesse pumps the step lever on the back of the chair a few times to raise the height and gestures for Hanzo to sit. “Go on and have a seat. What were you thinkin’ about doing today?”

“Just the split ends trimmed,” Hanzo says. His view is obscured when Jesse tosses a salon cape around his torso, making quick work of velcroing it around his neck. “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I had some free slots available this afternoon, so no trouble at all. Just glad we could fit you in. We’re awfully busy on Fridays. Now, let’s take a look at what I’ve got to work with here.”

A delicious shiver reverberates through Hanzo from his head to his toes the moment Jesse takes Hanzo’s hair in hand. He pulls the hair tie from the back and cards his fingers through the long, black locks, fluffing it out of position and getting a feel for the quality. Jesse lets out a low whistle. “My, my, what have we here?”

Hanzo’s reflection frowns at Jesse through the mirror. “Is there a problem?”

“Problem? Darlin’, the only problem I have is that our appointment is going to be far too short,” Jesse replies with an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head, the playful smile belying his tone. He lifts Hanzo’s hair up and lets the strands fall in an arc, gaze admiring. “Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous! The strands are so fine but your hair is so thick! Most people got one or the other, or neither. Seen a lot in the neither category, poor souls. But you? You’re one of the lucky few with both. You know, there’s people that’d pay more’n my rent for a head’a hair this nice.”

The open admiration brings a blush to Hanzo’s high cheekbones. He knows he is attractive but he has never had someone so blatantly talk about his  _ hair _ . It’s just hair, nothing special. “Thank you,” he mumbles, fighting down another shiver when Jesse picks up a brush and alternates between strokes with it and his fingers. Damn his sensitive scalp.

“Thank  _ you  _ for the honor,” Jesse replies. “‘Livia, check out this beauty.”

Hanzo’s blush only strengthens when Olivia shoots Jesse an annoyed look before leaning closer, perking up with interest. “Nice. That’s all-natural?” When Hanzo nods, Olivia tosses her purple ombre hair. “Damn, boy, very nice. Mama jeal-oooooous.” The woman in her chair looks up from behind the foils falling in her face, a little annoyed herself,  and Olivia goes back to applying color. “Don’t you worry, chica, your hair is good, too. It takes color so well.”

“She ain’t lyin’, neither. She’s wishin’ she’d grabbed you up. But lucky for you, you landed yourself the best stylist in town,” Jesse says, bringing Hanzo’s attention back and surprising a smile out of him. He pinches a lock of Hanzo’s hair between two fingers and drags downward until just half an inch is left exposed. “Just the split ends. About this much off, or would you want more?”

“Yes, that should be fine.”

“Excellent.” Jesse goes back to combing Hanzo’s hair, pulling the strands loose from behind his ears and working free any tangles until the comb pulls smooth. “So, you said your brother recommended you? Do you know who he saw when he came in?”

“I believe her name is Angela?” Even if he cannot talk to the woman directly, maybe he can learn more about her from her coworker. “I know she is blonde. She touched up his green dye.”

A wide, intriguing smirk spreads across Jesse’s face. A knowing look. “Ah. Him. Yeah, I remember him. Made quite the impression.”

Interesting. “Nothing too bad, I hope?” Hanzo remembers all the times Genji has made a fool of himself for a pretty face and inwardly cringes.

“Nothin’ awful,” Jesse assures. “Let’s just say, your brother was pourin’ on the charm thicker’n molasses. Sounds like maybe she made an impression herself?”

Hanzo smiles. “Something like that.”

“We teased Angie somethin’ awful after he left,” Jesse says with a chuckle. “Now, it ain’t uncommon for her to have clients hit on her, and she takes it like a champ. Polite and cordial but just doin’ her job. Comes with the territory, you know. Not with him, though. Had her gigglin’ somethin’ fierce. Ain’t gotta be a matchmaker to know those two are smitten. Hold on.” Raising his voice, Jesse calls out, “Hey, Angie! You call that fella yet?”

From the other side of the station wall, Hanzo hears a sweet, clear voice answer, “Fella? Who are you talking about?”

“Don’t you play dumb with me, you know damn well who,” Jesse replies, winking at Hanzo in the mirror. “That green-headed guy trippin’ all over himself for you the other day.”

Hanzo and Jesse share a silent laugh when Angela offers a stammering, flustered reply, and Jesse tries to follow up but they quickly lose control of the conversation. The other stylists chime in with their own romance woes and soon they are all talking about the love life of Lúcio, the young man with dreadlocks that Hanzo learns is Ana’s new apprentice. And then even that much becomes muted as Olivia leads her client to one of the sitting dryers.

“Sorry about that,” Jesse says, and only then does Hanzo become aware that at some point Jesse picked up the scissors and started trimming. “I tried for ya.”

“It was a good effort,” Hanzo sighs. “I was simply curious. Genji is not one to get attached quickly.”

Jesse’s smile dims just slightly, just enough for Hanzo to notice in his reflection. “Should’ve mentioned it before you sat down, I could have set you up an appointment with Angie. Y’all could’ve got your gossip in.”

Hanzo watches Jesse’s reflection, the way his forearms flex as he works the comb and scissors, the careless flick of his movements with the razor sharp focus, the flash of pink of his tongue when he wets his lip in concentration. “No. I think I prefer here,” Hanzo admits.

Honey-brown eyes glance up and meet his gaze, and that slow smile returns, this time just for him. “Good to hear, darlin’.”

 

\---

 

Two weeks is too short a time for a man to need another haircut unless he’s shaving it all off, and Hanzo is not that desperate. But he does know himself, and, to use Jesse’s turn-of-phrase, he is  _ smitten _ .

During his last cut, he and Jesse had talked non-stop about everything and nothing at all. Hanzo is not one for inane smalltalk, but much to his chagrin, Jesse is very easy to talk to. He is clever and funny, engaging and a bit of a smart-ass. He is a lot of things Hanzo likes in a very, very sexy package. Jesse makes him feel like Angela makes Genji feel. A little disconcerting, if he stops to think about it, so he chooses not to.

Had Hanzo been a little braver, he might have given Jesse his number. Therein lies the problem: Hanzo is not dense enough to ask someone out at their job. For all he knows, he is reading the signals all wrong because Jesse is a man in the service industry and how humiliating would that be? For both of them? The thought of being that creep that makes a move on some poor worker just trying to pay the bills, the one that makes the whole situation awkward, of Jesse’s smile turning strained and fake because he has no other choice but to smile—it’s enough to make him feel sick and he didn’t even do it.

So now he sits on his lunch break turning Jesse’s business card over and over in his hands, wondering what to do.  _ Jesse McCree. _ It really is a suiting name for the man. He sounds like a Jesse McCree. Kind of like a cowboy.

“What’s that?”

On instinct, Hanzo’s hands close over the card in a defensive gesture. Jack and Gabe plop down in the chairs opposite him with their own lunches, the latter raising an eyebrow in interest. “Oh-ho, whatcha hiding, Shimada?”

“Nothing,” Hanzo answers automatically, which just has the two older men smirking at each other. He can tell Gabe is going to press—Gabe  _ always  _ presses—but Jack elbows him in the side to shut him up. 

“Mind your business. You don’t want to get sent to HR. Again,” Jack says, tearing into his turkey sandwich.

Gabe rolls his eyes. “One time. I have to go to training  _ one  _ time—”

“Twice,” Hanzo points out, making Jack choke on both a laugh and his white bread.

“That second time don’t count,” Gabe says, shooting them both a warning look. “It was a harmless prank. How was I supposed to know Ashe had a peanut allergy?”

Jack steals one of Gabe’s chips. “By not smearing peanut butter on the earpiece of her phone.”

Gabe sighs. “It was funny for a few seconds, at least.”

Hanzo’s coworkers settle into their meals and he glances around the empty breakroom. He supposes there are other people he could ask, but in this case he thinks he needs someone with experience. Plus these two have no shame and have always said if he ever needed advice to just speak up. “How do you go about asking out someone you only know through their job?”

Gabe and Jack stop chewing simultaneously, staring at him for a long moment that makes him want to throw himself out into the hallway. Gabe swallows his food, the first to recover. “If you’re thinkin’ of asking either of us out, the answer is, ‘Flattered, but taken,’ and I’d be careful about Jack’s jealous streak. Though, I wouldn’t be opposed to a little  _ menage a trois—” _

“Shut up,” Jack grumbles fondly. To Hanzo, he smiles. “Thinking about asking someone out? You’ll definitely need to go by HR if it’s one of your bosses.”

“Oh, God, please don’t ask out Akande. You two would be a terrifying couple,” Gabe adds.

“No! Ugh, no, that—a big no, there.” Hanzo wrinkles his nose at the very thought of their stern, no-nonsense boss in any romantic capacity. “No one here. Someone I met at their job.”

“Ahh,” they both say. There is a good five seconds of silence while the two contemplate the question, then they answer in tandem.

“You should ask them.”

“I wouldn’t risk it.”

Gabe scoffs and looks at Jack. “What do you mean, you wouldn’t risk it?”

“I mean that it’s putting the person in an unfair position. They don’t feel like they can say no because  _ the customer is always right _ bullshit,” Jack says.

“But what if they’re both into it?” Gabe counters. “What if they’re meant to be? They’re supposed to just ignore that because they happen to meet on-the-job? Studies say that, like, one in five people meet their significant other at work or something like that.”

“One, don’t go quoting statistics that you can’t even remember. Two, you are a hopeless romantic, and that has no place in this conversation.”

“How can you say that? We’re talking about someone being asked out, that’s the best place for romance to be in the conversation.”

“It’s the best way to get a restraining order put out against you.”

_ “I asked you out at work.” _

“And I still think about that restraining order sometimes.”

Hanzo slumps back in his chair and rubs at his temples. “Forget I asked.”

Just like that, the two bickering men turn back to him with gentle smiles, like their little spat never happened. Gabe pops a chip into his mouth. “What kind of work is it? He a waiter or something?”

“Hair stylist,” Hanzo replies.

Jack hums. “Can’t just go back the next day, then.”

“Right, right. It’s going to be a slow courtship.”

“Courtship?” Hanzo repeats, but they pay him no mind.

“Not necessarily,” Jack says. “Not if he plays his cards right.”

“First he’s got to get in the door.”

Jack nods, looking over at his husband, then his husband’s facial hair, then over at Hanzo’s. “This place do shaves?”

 

\---

 

“Gotta say, this is a treat. Not too many people still want a professional shave now-a-days. A dying art, it is.”

Hanzo hums from behind the hot towel around his face. He’s never actually had a professional, hot-towel shave, didn’t even know this was a thing that people still do. The only time he has ever seen it is in mobster movies, and that usually doesn’t end well for the man in the chair. He’s already had a moment of reticence when he watched Jesse pull out the straight razor and go about the work of sharpening it against a leather strap.

Just as the towel is beginning to cool to room temperature, Jesse unwraps it from Hanzo’s face, his reclined position leaving him squinting into the bright overhead light. “You have done this before, though, right?”

Jesse gives a soft, knowing laugh. “Sure have, pumpkin. Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours, I’ll take good care of you.”

Hanzo watches as Jesse uses a badger hair brush to work the shaving cream into a thick lather in its wooden bowl, the scent of citrus, sandalwood, and leather filling the air. “I do not doubt you,” Hanzo says. “But I have never had someone else shave me.”

“Ah, then I’ll have to take  _ very  _ good care of you, won’t I?” Jesse says, deep voice coming closer. The foam is cool and smooth as he starts to apply it to Hanzo’s face. “Be real gentle with you.”

This close it is impossible for Hanzo to not blush at the suggestive words, but the shaving cream hides that pesky reaction. The brush irritates his nose and lips and it’s all he can do not to reach up and scratch. “Your beard is impressive,” Hanzo mentions, wondering if the wiry mass of hair framing Jesse’s jaw is as soft as it looks.

“Thank ya kindly,” Jesse replies, tilting his head a little more to show it off. “Never did look right without it. I’m told I got a bit of a baby face when I’m clean shaven.”

“I am the same.” A giggle manages to escape when the bristles of the brush graze his ear, his body involuntarily squirming to avoid the tickle. “Sorry. Ah, yes, I uh, I look awful without facial hair.”

Jesse scoffs. “Now I’m sure that ain’t true. But I’ll be careful all the same. You keep it sharp and angled, I’ll make sure it’s perfect for you. Now, for the fun part.” Jesse puts away the shaving cream and comes back with the straight razor held aloft in his right hand. “I’m gonna tip your head the way I want it. You just move with me and hold where I stop you. That alright?”

Hanzo swallows and nods as Jesse’s free hand settles against his scalp to tilt his head back and to the side. The razor is a faint pressure against the side of his face, a barely-there glide from his sideburn down his cheek. Jesse talks as he works, and his voice keeps Hanzo’s pulse stable even as the blade touches his most vulnerable parts. Hanzo wants to keep his eyes open and watch Jesse’s steady hands work, but he finds his eyes closing as he relaxes and leans into the vulnerability. 

After, Hanzo feels strangely naked and unmoored. He finds he has paid and walked out before even realizing that he never got around to asking the question he came there to ask.

Maybe it wasn’t a question he should have considered asking with a knife to his throat. 

 

\---

 

“Why are you two here?” Hanzo asks, then glares at Jack and Gabe. “Why are they here? You told them?”

“They’re here because they want to help,” Gabe says, pouring another pack of creamer into his coffee. “If you hadn’t choked on the last plan, they wouldn’t need to know. As it is, you need all the help you can get, kid.”

“Yes, you should have the chance to be happy and in love like us old men!” Reinhardt exclaims, rapping his fingers against the breakroom table. Next to him, Torbjörn grumbles something about how it is too early for all this commotion and downs half his mug of black coffee.

Jack jots in a few letters on the crossword he’s been working on. “Torb’s been married for over twenty years, and Reinhardt found love at a ripe old age—”

“I’m not that old!”

“—so I’m sure they know a thing or two about landing a guy. Gal. Person.”

“I don’t blame you for being nervous, son. Things are a lot different than they used to be.” Torbjörn breaks out into a laugh. “When I asked out my älskling, I used such a line on her! I’d be slapped clean off my stool if I tried that today!”

“That is why he should not use pick-up lines. He should be romantic!” The chair next to Hanzo makes a violent screech as Reinhardt pulls it back and takes a seat, clapping one of his massive hands against Hanzo’s shoulder and making him jolt. “Everyone loves a romantic gesture! Have you tried flowers? I bet he would love flowers!”

Torbjörn rolls his eyes. “Not everyone loves flowers. What if he is allergic? Like Ashe and the peanut incident—”

“Why does everyone keep bringing that up?” Gabe demands, which no one listens to.

“Maybe not flowers, but a gift of some sort,” Reinhardt amends. “Something that signals his intentions!”

“That’s a lot of trouble for someone that he barely knows,” Torbjörn points out. “And money.”

Hanzo drops his head into his folded arms on the table. He should have known not to bring this up at work. Now everyone knows, and he doesn’t even get the benefit of solid advice.

“Why not just get new hair cut?”

The new voice has them all going quiet to look at the door, even Hanzo who has to peek out from behind the crook of his elbow. Zarya glances around at the lot of them, amused, and points up at her bright pink style. “You said last visit too short, yes? Get something done that take long time. Plenty time to talk, work up nerve. We no have hair dress code. You good.” With that advice given, she reaches over to grab a protein bar from the box on the counter and leaves them to their plotting.

Gabe tilts his head as he gives Hanzo a once-over. “She does have a point. Your look could use an update.”

“I hate you,” Hanzo states. Still, he opens his phone and starts browsing for inspiration.

 

\---

 

The plan goes well, right up until it doesn’t.

Hanzo brought in over a dozen possible cuts and styles for Jesse to look at for reference, ranging from pictures of overall looks to something as specific as the length of bangs. Even then, he still ended up asking the stylist for his professional opinion. A good thing, too, because Jesse somehow managed to take the collection of disparate ideas and cobble together a look that is all Hanzo. By the time Jesse brought out the electric razor, Hanzo was ready to kiss those gray hairs at his temples goodbye.

The conversation flows as easily as the locks of Hanzo’s hair from his head to the floor. He tries to steer the conversation more toward Jesse, learning more about where he grew up (born and raised in Santa Fe, but hasn’t lived there in a long time), if he always wanted to be a hairstylist (no, actually wanted to be an engineer but math was never his strong suit), how he got into this job (took a cosmetology class with a friend and ended up loving it a lot more than his friend, who incidentally dropped out to join the military.) He has a dog named Tuco that might be the ugliest bulldog Hanzo has ever seen, but Jesse loves him to pieces and calls him a handsome man when he shows off his picture. He’ll eat almost anything on a pizza, has loud, insistent opinions about sweet tea, and every little detail Hanzo learns just makes him ache with affection. 

“Alright, sugar, you ready?” Jesse asks, bending a bit so he can look Hanzo head-on and fluff his hair to one side. “‘Cause I think this might be one of my finest ones yet.” He rotates the styling chair around so that Hanzo is facing the mirror.

Hanzo’s mouth falls open in delight, posture going even straighter as he sits up to look at the dramatic change. “Oh, wow,” he breathes, turning his head at different angles to see the shaved sides under the long choppy top layer.

“Go on, check it out from all angles,” Jesse says, passing Hanzo a hand mirror and turning him so he can see the back. “Looks like your hair wants to part to the left more than the right, so I’d go ahead and encourage it to go that way. No use fighting nature when what nature gave you looks this good. But I think we took a good ten years off you! What do you think?”

“I love it.” His neck and scalp tingle where they’re newly exposed, and his head feels lighter than usual when he moves. Mostly he looks  _ good _ . He smirks up at Jesse through the mirror. “I suppose you can retain your title as best stylist in town.”

Jesse laughs, sweeping the salon cape off of Hanzo’s shoulders and shaking it clean. “As if there was ever any doubt.”

Hanzo goes about paying what he owes while Jesse sweeps the floor around his station, but rather than saying his goodbyes, Hanzo lingers. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he asks, “You are sure it does not look like a midlife crisis?”

“Naw, I wouldn’t let someone come in and do that to themselves,” Jesse replies, setting the broom aside. His hands twitch up to Hanzo’s head even though their business is through. He combs his fingers through the newly-cut hair, lifting it out so it can fall back into place framing Hanzo’s face. “I’d say you look mighty fine.”

Their eyes meet and hold, the moment Hanzo has been waiting for finally here. Jesse has finished his job, and he has no reason to stay. He thinks, maybe, he hasn’t been reading the signals wrong. And the way Jesse is looking at Hanzo, his smile and his eyes and the way he leans forward just a bit, maybe expectantly?

Hanzo licks his lips and opens his mouth. “I was wondering—”

The bell at the door jangles loudly and Jesse’s eyes shift over on instinct, then go comically wide just as the other stylists gasp. “Oh my dear sweet Lord, what on Earth did she do to her hair?!”

Jesse pushes past Hanzo in a rush to get to the mother-daughter duo that just came through the door. When Hanzo gets a look at them, he understands Jesse’s urgency. The girl’s hair is a riot of red, a wild, tangled mess of curls clogged up with a suspiciously purple sticky substance. A pick comb is stuck in the snarl, a chunk of plastic anchored in a sea of hair. Her cheeks are blotchy and wet with tears, though whether its from crying or screaming is hard to say. Her mother looks on the verge of a breakdown herself. 

“Grape bubble gum,” the mother says. The little girl tries to squirm away but her mother holds on tight, hauling her back. “Please tell me you can do something?”

Straightening his broad shoulders like he is preparing for battle, Jesse nods. “We can do something. Might not be as long as it was, but we can do something,” he reassures, waving them back toward his station.

Ana offers the mother a nod of sympathy as they pass. Satya dashes off to whip up a cup of chamomile tea. Hanzo, for his part, knows when his window of opportunity has passed.

“Hey, Hanzo,” Jesse calls before he can escape. He looks torn between finishing their conversation and the disaster he is about to face. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to deal with this. But you were going to say something?”

Hanzo shakes his head. “Next time. You are busy. Thank you again, and good luck with all that.”

Jesse shoots him an exasperated and thankful smile. “Next time!”

 

\---

 

“You didn’t fail,” Jack says. “You made good progress! You got to know him better, and that means a lot!”

“Yeah. And the guy must be a killer hairstylist ‘cause damn, Hanzo, you’re looking sharp,” Gabe adds, earning a glare from Jack. “What? I’m not blind. Admit it, he’s at least three points hotter now.”

“Be that as it may,” Jack growls, turning back to Hanzo, “circumstances were against you. That doesn’t mean you can’t try again.”

“If I go back any sooner I’m going to start running out of hair,” Hanzo argues. He’s got his head propped on his hand and is abscently pushing his leftovers from the night before around his tupperware. The microwave did a good job of turning his mediocre dinner into barely-edible mush. “And I do actually like this cut.”

“Just as well. If you went back, he think you no like his work,” Zarya offers from her spot leaning against the wall next to the water cooler. “Very insulting. Ruin chances.”

The others hum in agreement, deep in thought. Hanzo’s predicament with the hairstylist has gained traction around the office, to the point that when he came in that morning multiple people asked him how it went. People that he never told in the first place. Part of Hanzo is annoyed at his gossiping coworkers’ inability to keep their mouths shut, but another part is grateful that he doesn’t have to rely on his brother for advice. The last thing he needs is for Genji to lord this over his head.

“I still think flowers are the way to go,” Reinhardt says.

“We’ve been over this,” Torbjörn answers.

Reinhardt waves his arm wide to make his point. “He works in a salon! They probably work with flowers all the time! Brides and weddings and proms and such.”

Jack shakes his head. “Torb’s right. That doesn’t change the fact he could be allergic.”

“It is the thought that counts, is it not?”

Torbjörn side-eyes Reinhardt and gives a flat answer. “Would you be feeling open to a date if you were going into anaphylactic shock? Wait. I forgot who I was asking.”

Hanzo covers his face with both hands and lets out an undignified groan. He’s hopeless.

Jamison knocks at the door frame before stepping in. “Mornin’ mates, am I interruptin’ a meeting?” Then he notices Hanzo in the middle and makes a noise of sad understanding. “Ah, the Shimada Singles Society.”

A sound that’s suspiciously like a snort escapes from the other side of the table and Hanzo levels Gabe with his most venomous glare to date. To his credit, Gabe rallies well. “You wouldn’t happen to have any suggestions, or are you just here to rub salt in the wound?” he asks.

Jamison holds up both hands in defense while neatly side-stepping through the group and over to the refrigerator. “No salt rubbing is taking place! Just making simple observations!” He rifles through the random paper bags and cartons of takeout until he finds a big foil-wrapped log of food that they all know is one of Mako’s famous burritos. More food than any one man should ever consume yet somehow Jamison manages to ingest at least one a week. “You don’t think it’s sad that you’re asking this bloke out by committee?”

“I am aware of how pathetic I am, thank you, Fawkes,” Hanzo drones.

“I’m saying, maybe you’re going about this too complicated. Hand me the hot sauce.” Jamison snags the little red bottle when Reinhardt passes it over and shakes a liberal amount over the open burrito. “So what if he’s at work? So what if it might get awkward? Life’s awkward sometimes, you know? He don’t need you to concoct a bunch of nonsense over this. Just go in there one day when he’s not busy, say hey, you fancy a date? Make it clear you’ll be good either way, don’t be a dick if he says no, and keep giving him business either way. He does do a good job.” He takes a big bite of the burrito and shrugs. “Try being honest.”

 

\---

 

Turns out, Hanzo’s bravery ran out during his last appointment, and instead his brain decides to go for the insane.

“No. Absolutely not.” As if to emphasise his point, Jesse tosses the salon cape on his counter and crosses his arms.

Hanzo frowns up at Jesse. “Why not?”

“Because there’s a change and then there is midlife crisis, and this sounds more like the latter,” Jesse explains. “Last week you didn’t say a word about colorin’ your hair, and now suddenly you want to go blue? Nuh-uh, I don’t think so.”

Hanzo huffs. “I just did not think about it.”

“You? You, who brought in little clips from an actual magazine for references, didn’t think about it?” Jesse looks skeptical, waiting for an answer.

“Yes. And now I have had a chance to, and I want to go blue,” Hanzo says. “I thought you would want this, you’ll be the one doing it.”

Jesse wrinkles his nose and steps closer, eyes roaming Hanzo’s face. “Hey, I’m all for experimenting with hair, but I  _ know  _ hair. And I know people, and I know this is not you. It don’t matter how much money I could make, I ain’t gonna do something that I know you wouldn’t like, even if you think you will. Sure, it’s just hair, it’ll grow back, but I want you to be happy with what I do. Sometimes the customer? They don’t know shit about what they really want.” He sighs, nodding at the chair. “Tell you what. You let me style your hair, show you an updo you can do with it, and if you’re still so determined after, I’ll get you set up with Olivia. She’s been chomping at the bit to get at you.”

Hanzo nods, relieved, and takes a seat. He already knows he won’t follow through with Olivia. The dye option had been a split-second idea that he regretted the moment it came out of his mouth, and he is so thankful that Jesse called him on it. He waits until Jesse has started combing out his hair from his workday to speak. “You are right. Maybe I have been overthinking this.”

“I know I’m right,” Jesse says, his smile tempering the words to let Hanzo know he’s teasing. “Can’t believe you asked me to dye this gorgeous shade of black. Like desecratin’ somethin’ sacred.”

“It’s just black,” Hanzo argues.

“Now you’re just addin’ blasphemy to the list!” He holds some of the longer strands up so they shine in the light. “You got a blue undertone that’s almost violet. You don’t see that naturally very often. Really brings out the hints of it in your eyes.”

Hanzo blinks as the Jesse in the mirror drops the hair quickly, his dark skin flushing. “My eyes?”

“Uh, yeah. You know. They look…good.” He clears his throat. “So here! Let me show you this style, it’s really easy and with a little practice you can have it in no time.”

Jesse talks his way through the fairly easy process, hands making quick work of folding Hanzo’s hair over into a loop and securing it with a tie. Hanzo only half-pays attention. He is too busy watching Jesse’s blush in the mirror and wondering if maybe Jamison was right all along.

“And that’s all there is to it,” Jesse says, presenting Hanzo with the finished hairstyle. He smiles as Hanzo looks himself over, settling his hands on the back of the chair. “Any questions?”

“Yes.” Hanzo waits until Jesse meets his gaze in the mirror. “How do you feel about being asked out at work?”

Jesse opens his mouth, surprised, then breaks into a smile as he ducks his eyes. The reaction gives Hanzo hope, at least until Jesse speaks. “I make it a point to turn down advances at work, and never ask out my clients.”

Is it possible to feel gutted in a nice, polite way? Hanzo thinks there is, now. But Jesse is still talking.

“However,” he drawls, voice dropping lower, “if I was to be asked out after work, say around six, that would be a different matter entirely.”

Hanzo swallows. “Six?”

“Six-fifteen, if you want to be safe. Just in case my last client runs late.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, grinning, before Hanzo nods and stands. “Good to know.”

Jesse runs a hand through his own hair in a gestures that Hanzo can now recognize as nervousness, the suave charm suddenly replaced by something more bashful. Much to his delight, Hanzo finds it just as endearing. “No charge for the style. Really should have showed you that the other day, but you know.” He makes to put his hair brush back in its holder but manages to miss, dropping it on the floor and generally being a clumsy mess. “Oops! Ah, right, uh, I’ve, I’ve got another client coming in, so—”

“Do not let me keep you,” Hanzo replies, knowing his smile is getting ridiculous but unable to help it. He heads for the front of the store with Jesse and steps aside as he greets his next customer. Jesse keeps looking at Hanzo, distracted enough to lead his client the long way around to his station, still smiling until the last second.

The moment Jesse disappears out of view, Angela, Ana, Lúcio and Amélie turn to give him approving nods. Satya sticks her head out from behind her wall with a knowing smirk, and Olivia’s manicured hand sticks out from the other side with a thumbs-up.

Hanzo has a brief flash of embarrassment, but decides he can feel shame later. For now, he has a date to get ready for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo scores a date, and then scores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I've had about 4 major emergencies happen in the past month, so this is later than I'd like, but we finally got here! Thanks for the patience, and enjoy the smut <3

At five minutes till six, Hanzo pulls into the tiny parking lot that Shear Bliss shares with a dentist office and a massage parlor. He takes a space at the far end of the lot near the employee vehicles, slotting his black Mustang—and yes, he is well aware that the muscle car is very much outside his perceived nine-to-five office-worker persona and comes off like a mid-life crisis, thank you,  _ Genji _ —next to a sporty little two-door with a halo antenna decoration bobbing in the breeze. On its other side is a dirty white pick-up with an  _ I Brake For Bigfoot _ bumper sticker. Hanzo just knows it must be Jesse’s.

He can’t believe he asked Jesse out. He can’t believe Jesse said  _ yes.  _ Or, at least, presumably will say yes. Hanzo may not be the best at reading people but Jesse was sending some pretty obvious signals earlier. You don’t just meet someone after work to tell them, _ “Oh, thanks but no thanks, I wanted to make you suffer the indignity of multiple rejections.” _ No, for once in his life Hanzo took the plunge and asked the cute guy out and they are going to go on a date and maybe, just maybe, this streak of bravery and good luck will keep up.

Two customers leave the salon in quick succession, and Hanzo takes that as his cue. Getting out of his car, he adopts a casual lean against the passenger’s-side door that gives him an unobstructed view of the front patio. He’s hoping for cool and nonchalant, not creepy, but is only about eighty percent sure he pulls it off. His fingers itch to take out his phone just so he has something to do with his hands.

Movement in one of the windows catches his eye. Long fingers and manicured nails separate two of the blind slats, forming a dark diamond that someone must be peeking through, before they snap back closed. Then the blinds rattle with movement. 

Not a minute later, the front door opens with a bell-jangle and Jesse comes stumbling out. A cacophony of yelling follows, all pouring from the salon entrance. Hanzo can’t make out the words but the tone seems awfully encouraging. Or, in Olivia’s case, downright lewd. “Shut up!” Jesse hisses, grabbing the door. “I’ll see y’all tomorrow, good _ night!”  _ The door has a stopper built into the top so Jesse can’t slam it behind him, but the intention is there when he slowly yanks it shut. 

Hanzo flashes a smile before fighting the amusement back down to something more neutral, and he watches as Jesse strides across the parking lot towards him, those long legs doing wonders to stretch the denim around his thighs. More enchanting is the pleased little grin that Jesse brings with him, like he can’t quite believe Hanzo followed through with his little suggestion. He strolls to a stop a few feet away, his own hands tucking into the front pockets of his jeans. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Well, you know,” Hanzo says, shrugging, glancing away but looking back almost immediately. Eyes drawn to Jesse like a moth to flame. “I heard there was this really cute guy that worked nearby. Thought I might ask him to dinner.”

Jesse squints at him then hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “You want me to get Lúcio out here? I’m sure Ana will let him off early for such a noble cause.”

Hanzo breathes out a laugh and pushes off the car, taking a step closer so he can look up at Jesse properly. “I finally work up the nerve to do this and you make fun of me?”

“Maybe if you actually asked I wouldn’t have to make fun of you,” Jesse quips.

The expectant look has them both grinning. Hanzo would have to fall for a smart-ass. “Would you like to join me for dinner and a drink tonight, Jesse?”

Despite having all day to prepare for it and his own little jab of mockery, Jesse still turns an attractive pink at the question. “I’d like that,” he replies. “Now?” In answer, Hanzo steps aside and opens the passenger door for his date. The chivalrous behavior has Jesse chuckling. “What a gentleman.”

Jesse gets one foot in the car when a whooping calls out across the parking lot. Both men jerk at the startling sound. The window from before has had the blinds pulled up and glass pane raised, with over half the staff crammed into the opening to gawk at them. The rest are leaning out the open front door. Satya whistles around two of her fingers, and Olivia hollers,  _ “Get you some, Jesse!” _

“I hate all of you!” Jesse shouts back, flipping them the bird. All that earns him is more catcalling. They whistle at Hanzo as he dashes around to get in the driver’s side, and he gives them a friendly wave before hopping in and cutting off any more embarrassing calls from Jesse’s co-workers. Well, mostly. Hanzo can still hear the muffled whistling.

They share a look. “I am so sorry about them,” Jesse blurts, embarrassed and rubbing a hand over his eyes. “They’ve been on my ass about it all day, but they don’t mean no harm. We’re pretty much in each others’ pockets half the time, and they have no filter.”

“It’s cute,” Hanzo says. “If it makes you feel any better, my co-workers thought I should send flowers, but it was vetoed because we didn’t know your allergies.”

Those alluring lips twist into a reluctant smile, and Jesse considers Hanzo for a moment. “No allergies here. And I’m partial to daisies. For future reference.”

“For future reference,” Hanzo agrees, starting the engine. If this date goes well, he plans on hitting up a florist first thing in the morning.

 

\---

 

Hanzo knows they’re being too loud but can’t stop the barking laugh that escapes before he can cover his mouth. Not that Jesse is any better, cracking up at his own joke, the corners of his eyes creased with laugh lines. They glance around the tiny restaurant and catch one of the managers, or maybe the owner, giving them a suspicious glare. Biting his lip, Hanzo tries to tamp down his amusement. “That was bad.”

“Hey, you laughed,” Jesse points out, picking up the beer he’s been nursing all night. “Not my fault you have bad taste.”

“Awful. You are just awful,” Hanzo adds, lying through his teeth.

Jesse’s jokes are awful, but Jesse himself is not. Jesse is  _ amazing. _ Funny and charming, smart and sarcastic, a good listener and a great storyteller, nice to the wait staff and a right bastard about the haircut on the woman two tables over, and Hanzo is a goner. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun on a date. He can’t remember the last time he connected like this with someone. Maybe he never has.

These thoughts are way too deep for a first date, and yet Hanzo can’t help the light warmth that spreads through him at the idea. “So, I have always wondered something.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Jesse swallows his drink. “Shoot.”

“Hair stylists have to go to school and practice on fake hair, right? And then you practice on real people and keep learning?” At Jesse’s nod, Hanzo continues, “There is no way they always do things perfect, right?”

“Definitely not,” Jesse admits with a rueful grin that speaks of experience.

Hanzo leans closer across the table. “What’s the worst thing you have done to a client.”

“Oh, God,” Jesse groans, laughing already and covering his eyes in shame. “You’re going to make me relive my past sins.”

“It was that bad?”

“Worse.” He takes another fortifying drink from his glass, then starts in on the tale. “Okay, so, I was Ana’s apprentice right out of cosmetology school, like Lúcio is now. I’d do most cuts and styles on my own and she’d come by and check from time to time. Maybe on the more complicated shit I’d assist her so she could show me the finer points of some tricky style or that I don’t mess up the dye chemicals, whatever. Mostly she’d just leave me be.

“It was near the end of my apprenticeship and I was really hoping she would offer me a booth to rent in the salon, so I was goin’ all out with every client, tryin’ to make sure I was the sort of person she’d want to represent the place. So this lady comes in, and she’s a real baby-boomer-type. You know. A soccer mom, but she’s got too much going on in her life to actually go to a soccer game, that type. And I could tell right away that she was pissed that she was getting some young guy to do her hair and not one of the ladies.”

“Is that a common problem?” Hanzo asks.

Jesse tilts his head back and forth and waggles his hand like a see-saw. “Eh, it used to be worse. Most people aren’t that backward, but it happens. Sometimes guys come into the salon and will only let me cut their hair, which pisses off everyone else, but whatever. People are weird. Then there’s the women that ask for me just so they can hit on me.” 

“Oh.” Hanzo balls up a fist over his mouth to stop another ugly laugh from escaping. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Jesse grins, leaning back and gesturing to himself. “They want to flirt with someone other than their husband for an hour and not get in trouble. The cougars are all about it.”

Considering Hanzo is guilty of multiple appointments just for the purpose of working up the courage to ask for a date, and he is also  _ all about it, _ he decides to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand. “What did she want done?”

“Right, right, so, she says she wants a perm. And I know immediately that it’s the worst idea. She’s got this light dishwater blonde hair that’s super thin, like wispy-cloud thin, and it is not in good shape. I can tell it’s brittle and has damage from who-knows-how-many treatments she’s had done to it in the past. This hair is not going to handle a perm.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Hanzo says, because he has no idea what process goes into a perm but Jesse is the expert.

Jesse sucks in a breath and raises a hand to gesture, then pauses himself, looking at Hanzo for a long moment. Then he points at the other man. “That is an explanation for another day. On with the story. I tell her, I say, Ma’am, I don’t feel comfortable giving you this style, the chemicals are harsh and your hair is already—and she cuts me off, because of course she does. She’s like that. And she tells me she’s had bla-bla-bla so many perms in her life, she knows her hair better than me, so on and so forth. And I don’t want to make a huge deal out of it, but at the same time I just know that this is a bad idea. So just to be safe, I have Ana come over and take a look.

“She agrees with me, and tries to talk the woman out of it, but this lady is adamant. I think, okay, what do we do now? But Ana brings out this form that I had never seen her use before and have only seen a few times since. It’s this liability waiver that says we explained to her the dangers and she’s agreeing to do it anyway. And she signs it, happy as a clam to get her way.”

A growing sense of dread settles in Hanzo’s gut, knowing that this story is about to take a turn but not knowing enough about hair to know how and anticipating it with glee.

Jesse traces a finger around the top of his glass and shakes his head at the memory. “It takes me two hours to wrap this woman’s hair and apply the treatment, because I’m so damn nervous. The whole while she barely speaks to me, too busy gossiping with the women in the other chairs or looking through a magazine. Which was fine by me, since I needed all my concentration not to screw up. But it didn’t matter. As soon as we got to the sink and I started workin’ that shampoo in, I knew I’d been right.”

“What happened?” Hanzo asks.

Propping his cheek against his hand, Jesse sighs and smirks. “Her hair fell out.”

Hanzo’s eyes go wide. “No!”

“Mmhmm. Her hair starts breaking right under my fingers. Practically disintegrates. I’m talkin’ huge chunks of it in the sink. By the handful.” By this point Hanzo has his hands pressed over his mouth in shock, and Jesse laughs. “I tried so damn hard not to react but that lady must have seen the horror on my face when she peeked up at me. Never heard someone scream like that.” He lifts his glass again, smirking. “And that is why I reserve the right to refuse to do something when I know the client won’t like the end result, even if they think they know better.”

At Jesse’s pointed look, Hanzo drops his eyes to his empty plate, blushing. “Ah. Yes. That is a good policy to have.”

Jesse watches him for a long moment. “Why were you going to get your hair dyed  _ blue? _ Blue, of all things. Not that I’m against wild colors, but…”

“Not exactly me, is it?” Hanzo scratches the back of his neck, the blush growing darker, before he bites the bullet. “I was running out of reasons to come see you.”

“You were going to  _ dye your hair _ to talk to me?” Jesse asks, incredulous.

“Maybe.”

“You do know I would have had to bleach it first, right?”

Hanzo balks. He didn’t know that, actually. “Uh.”

Jesse laughs, like he just can’t believe the man he is sitting across from is such an idiot. But it’s not mean. No, he sounds…pretty fond. Hanzo can feel Jesse’s ankle knock against his under the table, their calves sliding together. “You don’t have to come up with convoluted scenarios to talk to me, you know. I’m going to give you my number. You can call me like a normal person and everything.” He goes give Hanzo a glare, then. “Do not threaten your hair like that anymore, you’re liable to give a man high blood pressure.”

Hooking their ankles together, Hanzo reaches for Jesse’s hand and squeezes. “I promise.”

 

\---

 

Neither man is eager for the night to end by the time they arrive back at the salon parking lot. Hanzo is scrambling to think of a reason to extend the evening and coming up blank, so he is incredibly grateful when Jesse nods towards his work and asks if he wants to go inside. “I can give you the penny tour,” he says as they cross the now-empty lot.

“Is it okay for us to be in here like this?” Hanzo asks as Jesse keys in a code for the cheap security system on the wall, then unlocks the big glass front door.

“Oh yeah, Ana won’t care.”

The bell over the door sounds even louder than usual in the relative silence of the darkened salon. Everything looks shadowed and a bit other-worldly, as all businesses seem to do when you are in them after-hours. The only light coming from the street lights through the cracks in the blinds. Jesse remedies that by disappearing into the dark to find the switch for the overheads, only flipping on a few so they have enough to see by.

He does give Hanzo a little tour, not that there’s much to show that Hanzo hasn’t already seen. There’s a room off to the side where Satya does manicures and nail art that he didn’t even know they offered. Just like every other station Satya has control of, the neatness and organization is almost unrealistic. Jesse takes two of the nail polish bottles from their stand and switches their places, the repositioning slightly ruining the gradient effect of the display. “It’ll drive her nuts,” he says by way of explanation, devilish little smirk on his face.

More interesting to Hanzo is what Jesse calls the lab. It’s more like a glorified storage room and countertop with two sinks and cabinets along one wall. There are a ridiculous amount of bottles, tubes, and jars lined up everywhere. There’s also stacks of mixing trays, paint brushes, sponges, and box after box of aluminum foil. And the overwhelming, all-encompassing smell of chemicals. “Wow,” Hanzo says, wrinkling his nose. “Are you sure you should not be wearing a gas mask in here?’

“You should smell it during the workday.”

“How can you stand it?”

Jesse shrugs, looking around at the mess. “You get used to it, honestly. I’m sure I’ve burned away half my sense of smell at this point.”

Other than the uninteresting or locked rooms of a closet, the bathrooms, and Ana’s office, the only space left is the salon floor itself. Their feet carry them back to Jesse’s little corner of the shop, and Hanzo runs a hand over the shiny-slick upholstery and the metal bar along the chair back. “Do you do your own hair?” Hanzo asks.

“I can give myself a trim,” Jesse says, watching as Hanzo gives curious looks to his work tools. “We usually just give each other cuts when we don’t have customers and we need one. Everyone here knows everyone well enough for it.”

Hanzo hums then gestures to the chair, playful smile on his face. “Have a seat?”

Jesse quirks an eyebrow and hesitates for just a moment before easing down into the chair that gives a light squeak under the weight. “You don’t lay a finger on the scissors, agreed?”

“Of course,” Hanzo replies. They smile a bit ridiculously at each other through the mirror as Hanzo does what he has wanted to do all night and runs his hands up through Jesse’s hair. It’seven softer than Hanzo imagined, thick and unruly, auburn and chestnut under the glow of dim lighting. He tries to do what Jesse always does, pushing and combing through the strands with his fingers, though he is sure Jesse is looking for something specific when he does it and not just playing. Admiring. Luxuriating in it, like Hanzo is now. “I must admit, I have never given that much thought to my date’s hair, before.”

“Yeah?” Jesse asks, a little breathy. His shoulders are relaxed and he tips his head back, chasing the sensation.

Hanzo hums. “Other than it being presentable. It never really crossed my mind.”

The faintest groan sneaks out of Jesse’s throat when Hanzo’s blunt nails dig lines along Jesse’s scalp. “And now?”

“I am starting to see the appeal,” Hanzo murmurs. He drags his nails again and watches Jesse’s eyes flutter closed, and Hanzo can’t stand it anymore. It takes little effort at all to spin the chair around, then he’s leaning over and Jesse arches up to meet him halfway.

Jesse kisses like a wildfire. The first touch of lips sets off a spark, and they pause there, mouths pressed together, for just a moment, the energy building between them before everything ignites. Then Hanzo feels like he’s burning as Jesse’s mouth parts beneath his and Hanzo is consumed by it all.

Bracing his hands on either side of Jesse’s head, Hanzo leans in close to press the other man back against the vinyl. He tastes like the beer they had with dinner and the mint that came with the bill, and under that something warm and biting like whiskey. The taste of Jesse, heady and addictive. Hanzo could drown in the taste. He laps at that full lower lip, slides their tongues together, moans when Jesse’s teeth nip at his own lips in retaliation. 

The moan must do it for Jesse, because the hands that had settled light on Hanzo’s hips now find purchase in the meat of Hanzo’s thighs, underneath. They lift and encourage Hanzo to dig his knees into the tight space between Jesse’s legs and the seat edges. Hanzo climbs right onto the chair to settle on Jesse’s lap like he belongs there. “Fuck,” Jesse gasps, looking up reverently at Hanzo from within the curtain of Hanzo’s long black hair.

“That’s the idea,” Hanzo whispers against Jesse’s mouth. Their kisses become more desperate with each breath, every movement that much harsher as they hold and squeeze and grind as close as they can get within the confines of their clothes. Even the layers of their clothes seem too far apart. Hanzo slides his palm down the path from Jesse’s jaw to feel the thumping heartbeat in his throat, then further still under the open collar of his shirt. Inside is the soft-scratch of curly chest hair and firm muscle. The fingers of his other hand toy with the top button, slipping it free. “Is this too much?”

“Not enough,” Jesse replies, panting into the space between them. His hands ruck up the back of Hanzo’s shirt to touch skin. Then Hanzo feels those broad hands cup his ass and squeeze. 

The moan that motion forces out of him is one that he will feel embarrassed about, when he remembers it later. For now, he humps forward and his dick throbs with want at the answering hardness he feels in Jesse’s jeans. “At the risk of sounding easy—” Hanzo cuts off with a gasp as Jesse’s mouth finds a delectible spot right at the edge of his jaw that sends a shot of electricity straight down his spine. When he tries again, Hanzo’s voice has gone high and breathless. “Would you want—I-I mean, we could— _ shit! _ —I think you should fuck me— _ ah!” _

At Hanzo’s use of the word  _ fuck _ , Jesse’s teeth dig into the sensitive meat where Hanzo’s neck joins his shoulder, hard enough to leave a blossoming love bite. He laps at it afterward, an apology, before leaning back. Jesse’s pupils are blown wide when he meets Hanzo’s gaze. “Yeah,” he breathes out, nose running along Hanzo’s, lips pressing to steal another kiss. Then he backs off a few inches to ask, “Wait. You sure? This is awful fast.”

Hanzo can feel his face growing red under Jesse’s assessment. “Right,” he says, looking off to the side. Too fast. Way too fast. How desperate he must sound, to just throw it out there like that. He bites his lip as embarrassment floods through him. “That—sorry, I should not have—” 

“Hey, hey, no, I mean—” Jesse slides his hand along Hanzo’s cheek and tilts his head back so Hanzo can’t hide his eyes. A smile plays along the edges of Jesse’s lips, but his words are serious. “That wasn’t me bein’ judgemental. I just meant that I, uh. I don’t really do one-night stands?” Now it’s his turn to turn red, bashful as Hanzo watches him with growing hope. “You’re somethin’ else, Han, somethin’ I never saw comin’, and I want to make sure we’re on the same page so I don’t go gettin’ the wrong idea. Before this gets too far.”

“You really think I could have my fill of you in just one night?” Hanzo asks. His hand comes up and he traces Jesse’s lower lip with his thumb. “If I have it my way, I will have you again, and again, and again…” His thumb eases in and Jesse’s tongue slicks the pad, mouth sucking suggestively. Hanzo swallows. “With a lot of dating in between. What would you prefer? Boyfriends? Partners?  _ Partners?” _

The last is said in Hanzo’s best attempt at Jesse’s accent, which is not a good impression at all. So bad that Jesse starts to laugh around Hanzo’s thumb and then he bites Hanzo in retaliation. “You’re goin’ to be a menace, aren’t you?” Jesse asks once his mouth is free.

Hanzo grins. “You bring it out in me.” He lets himself trace the careless joy of Jesse’s smile, the creases of his laugh lines, the light in his eyes. “To be clear, I want this to be more than tonight. Is that acceptable?”

“More than,” Jesse murmurs, leaning in. The kiss they share then is softer, almost chaste compared to everything before. It’s sweet. It makes Hanzo’s heart melt. “Now—” And then Jesse brings his hand down on Hanzo’s ass in a playful smack that has the other man giggling. “I believe someone said something about getting fucked?”

“Oh my God,” Hanzo groans, trying to hide his face against Jesse’s neck but Jesse will have none of it. He captures Hanzo’s lips once more and they fall back into their passionate kisses like the delay never happened at all. Wanting more, Hanzo gets back to work on Jesse’s shirt buttons, fumbling in his haste. He can feel one of Jesse’s hands trying to reciprocate but he doesn’t get too far, palms sliding back around to roughly grope at Hanzo’s backside. Hanzo rips his lips away so he can pant, “I could ride you.”

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut and bucks up against Hanzo. He breathes out harshly. “God damn, darlin’, if you keep talkin’ like that, we won’t ever get that far,” he grunts. He tips back, pulling Hanzo more fully on top of him. The chair reclines a few inches more and Hanzo hikes his thighs that much higher around Jesse’s waist.

A worryingly loud screech fills the salon.

Hanzo freezes, and he feels Jesse tense beneath him. He’s about to question him when Jesse pushes up. “Shit! Up, sorry, up-up-up!” He urges Hanzo backwards and rolls up onto his feet.

“What was that?”

“The chair,” Jesse says, the two of them looking back at his salon chair. It seems completely fine now, still tilted at the angle they left it at. Jesse laughs. “Damn. Guess we’re a bit too heavy.”

“Whoops,” Hanzo giggles, joining him. Still, he is a little disappointed. Jesse doesn’t need to know that he may have had a rather vivid daydream about him and Jesse making use of that chair. “Maybe that is our cue to head home—oh.”

“I’m not through with you yet,” Jesse says, crowding up against Hanzo and backing him against the mirror.

“Yeah?” Hanzo asks, already pushing Jesse’s shirt off his shoulders.

Jesse grins and pulls at Hanzo’s belt. “Yeah,” he replies, the buckle landing with a loud thump against the shelf behind Hanzo’s hips. He manages to yank Hanzo’s shirt clean over his head without unbuttoning it at all, and he looks appreciatively at the elaborate tattoo spreading across Hanzo’s pectoral and down his arm. So appreciative he mouths an expletive and ducks his head to lick across the scales of the dragon, like he’s marking his territory.  “You know how hard it was to stare at you every time you came in? Giving me those bedroom eyes?”

“I do no such thing.” A dark happy trail descends from Jesse’s navel down into the top of his jeans. Hanzo has every intention of following where it leads. His voice jumps as his own pants are shoved downward. His arms get trapped between them when Jesse presses him up against the mirror, chest-chest-chest. “You are the one that kept talking about my-my hair and my eyes, and-and touching my hair—”

“I’m a hairdresser, what did you expect?”

“But you kept touching it even when I wasn’t in the chair, you  _ knew  _ what you were doing, you bastard, and  _ I swear would you let me get these off!” _

Jesse snickers but lets Hanzo get his jeans and boxers down around Jesse’s thighs, hissing when Hanzo gives him a few experimental strokes. His hips jump in time with Hanzo’s movements, chasing the firm grip. “Still want me to fuck you, baby?”

Head bobbing, Hanzo forces himself to let go of Jesse’s cock—bigger than Hanzo had anticipated, but like hell is he going to admit it out loud—to rid himself of his own underwear. “Do you have anything?”

The speed with which Jesse retrieves a condom and packet of lubricant gives Hanzo pause. He narrows his eyes at the taller man. “You had that on hand in your drawer at  _ work?” _ he asks, suspicious.

“Oh. Oh! No!” Jesse blurts with dawning horror. “No, I uh—heh, no, these aren’t mine—I mean they  _ are  _ mine, but I didn’t—” He huffs, blushing and laughing. “The others threw them at me at lunch. They said they wanted all the details tomorrow.”

Hanzo’s eyes go wide. Oh. Well then. He plucks the lube pack from Jesse’s hands and tears it open. “How nice of them. No details.”

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I don’t kiss and tell.”

The next thing he knows, Hanzo’s bent over with his breath fogging the mirror, hands scrabbling against the shelf underneath with three of Jesse’s fingers driving him insane. He moans out his pleasure against his own reflection as those fingers curl within him, his cock spurting slick when Jesse brushes the sensitive spot within that makes his stomach swoop with need. Jesse’s other hand pets up and down the taunt muscles of his back, soothing overheated skin and nerves. His own arousal grinds against Hanzo’s hip as he works Hanzo open.

“Look at you,” Jesse murmurs, twisting and spreading his fingers. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“Jesse, please,” Hanzo whimpers, back curving so he can try and take even more. He shouts when Jesse’s fingers move in a wave. “Please, please, I am ready.”

“Are you sure?”

His answer comes in a harsh stream of hissed words. “I have been sure, you’re stretching more than I ever stretch myself, you do not have to be so damn thorough, just get  _ in  _ me.”

Jesse chuckles against his neck. “I like when you get all bossy.”

The empty feeling when Jesse removes his hands has him shivering, then he’s shivering for completely different reasons as the wall of heat that is Jesse’s body pushes him up against the mirror. Hanzo goes up on the balls of his feet to present a better angle and grips the shelf hard, whining in harmony with Jesse’s groan as the other man slides in to the hilt. 

They hover there for long moments, adjusting, Hanzo willing his body to relax against the intrusion. He nods and Jesse gives a slow, tentative thrust. Each motion has the tension easing from Hanzo’s lower back. He moans and spreads his legs more. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Jesse drawls, petting Hanzo’s sides.

Hanzo forces his eyes open and his breath catches in his throat.  _ Holy shit. _ He had been so focused on the feelings, he had not considered the visual. He can see Jesse looming over him, tall and broad and overwhelming at his back. Jesse’s dark hands possessive on Hanzo’s straining, aroused form, keeping him steady and sweeping over his ribs, his hips, his thighs. Jesse’s whole body straining with desire. Desire for Hanzo. 

“Good?” Jesse asks.

Hanzo nods again. They settle into a steady pace, Jesse’s mouthing at the curve of his shoulder, hands holding Hanzo in place. It  _ is  _ good. The stretch is perfect, the push and drag, the pleasure skittering up his spine and spreading through his limbs. He whines again. It is  _ good,  _ and he hates to want more, but something nags at him and he bites his lip. “Will you…”

Jesse noses at Hanzo’s jaw. “What?” he asks, rotating his hips just so and making Hanzo thump his head against the mirror. When Hanzo does nothing but pant in response, Jesse moves his lips to whisper directly into his ear. “Tell me what you need.”

Forcing himself to meet Jesse’s gaze in the mirror, Hanzo stutters, “M-my hair—just—”

Before he can even think of how to finish the sentence, Jesse’s carding his fingers up along Hanzo’s sensitive scalp to grip the base of his hair. It rips a needful cry out of Hanzo’s throat that echoes loud in the otherwise quiet shop. “Yes! Harder!”

Jesse pulls Hanzo’s head back by his hair, spine bowing and throat bared like an offering. The angle forces his chest out, nipples grazing the cold mirror. Hanzo’s mouth falls open and his eyes roll back, heavy-lidded, the picture of ecstasy. Jesse grunts at the tight clench of Hanzo’s body milking him for all he’s worth. “Fucking hell,” he moans, “you’ll be the death of me.”

Then he gets to work.

 

\---

 

“We really should clean up.”

“Do you think you can stand?”

“…Not yet, no.”

Jesse squeezes Hanzo around the middle and kisses the point of his jaw. “Then we can wait a few more minutes.”

Hanzo tilts his head back to rest against Jesse’s shoulder and lets out a sigh of satisfaction. The salon floor is cold against his sore ass, and probably not particularly sanitary, but there is no way he can get his legs under him quiet yet. He’s not sure if he’ll even be able to walk straight tomorrow, pun definitely intended. He can honestly say he’s never been fucked over quite so well, and as soon as his brain comes down from the stratosphere, he’s going to figure out how soon they can do it all again.

His breath comes out in a contented hum when Jesse starts running his fingers through Hanzo’s hair. “Feels good.”

“You don’t say,” Jesse drawls, then starts to laugh. “Fuck, Hanzo, how the hell am I supposed to do your hair now? Every time you come sit in this chair, all I’m goin’ to see is you bouncing on my cock and begging for more.” Hanzo blushes bright pink and tries to hide his embarrassed smile against Jesse’s cheek. “Hey, no use hidin’ now, but you could’ve warned me you had a hair thing.”

“I don’t have a—!” His mouth snaps shut and he leans back to glare halfheartedly at Jesse. “I didn’t  _ know _ I had a—a hair thing. It was just—it just happened. Don’t make fun of me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’,” Jesse assures, nuzzling at Hanzo, making him soften enough to smile back. “You are absolutely not allowed to come get your hair done during the day, though. It will be bad enough not thinking about during work hours, I don’t need to be popping a boner if you drop by between clients.”

Hanzo smirks at him, devilish, and pushes the dark strands up and out of his eyes. “After that performance? You are not saying anything to dissuade me.”

Jesse gives a theatrical groan, but Hanzo can see the obvious delight in his eyes. “I was so right about you. You’re goin’ to be such a menace.” He squeezes Hanzo again and tugs on a lock of Hanzo’s hair. “I can’t wait.”

Happiness wells up in Hanzo like a fountain, overflowing. “Neither can I.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like that and want more, want to check out my art, or just want to chat, come on by my tumblr! You can find me under username wyntera. And if twitter is more your game, come and join me there, just look for @ThreeCatDesigns. You can now also find me as wyntera on Pillowfort!
> 
> And hey. Thanks.


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